


Three Days

by lady_wordsmith



Series: Memories (Bucky/Reader) [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Blood and Violence, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Dark Comedy, Dark Humor, F/M, Fluff, Foreshadowing, Gift Giving, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Implied Relationships, Is That a Nail Gun, Learning to trust, Memory Loss, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Relationship, Reader-Insert, Threats of Violence, Vaguely Fluffy Ending, hints of romance, oh shit, what even is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-06-07 04:34:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6785434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_wordsmith/pseuds/lady_wordsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three nonconsecutive days in the year you spent on the run with Bucky.</p><p>(Or: The relationship slowly evolves. Angst about memories and feelings abound)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One

Las Vegas hadn’t been a total waste. After a month, you weren’t exactly flush with cash, but you had a comfortable cushion that would make things easier for a while. That said, it was less than you would have liked. James simply hadn’t been comfortable with what you had had to do, and so you had had to be choosy with the men you had subjected to the trick trap.

You normally looked for men who were wide-eyed, naïve, and obviously tourists, but because James seemed less than enthusiastic, you had had to take risks and aim higher than you liked, eyeing the high rollers who were obviously loaded and who could maybe be swayed by a pretty enough face. You struck out more often than not, but you simply smiled and traveled from casino to casino to hunt your prey. It didn’t do to stay in one place too long; security (or someone a little more sinister) might pick up on your attempts, and the last thing you needed was to pay bail.

Las Vegas had, at least, been a success as far as helping you hide a little bit more. You had looked up one of Lane’s old friends, a guy who went by the name of Mel. Mel was a master at document forgery, though he preferred the term “identity broker.” You had gone to him to see if he could get you and James some documentation that would slip past officials in case you needed it. You had gone alone to suss out the situation, but Mel was genial and friendly for a criminal who had a reputation for being slimy.

“Of course, kiddo.” He said. “For a pretty face like you, I’ll even waive the usual fees and only charge you for the work.”                                                                                                                                                                                 

You had heard about Mel’s “usual fees.” You suspected it had less to do with your pretty face and more to do with not wanting to be on the business end of Lane’s Navy SEAL training. Fair enough, you wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

“And you won’t tell Lane I’ve been by?” you ask.

Mel snorted.

“I won’t if you won’t, kid.”

Fair enough. You had shaken Mel’s hand and promised to be by later with James so Mel would get pictures of the two of you for the ID cards. You brought James, Mel had done what you asked, and you and James were now both the proud owners of fake ID cards, birth certificates, and social security cards that would fool even seasoned government agents. Mel had even made a fake marriage certificate for you and James, telling you that part was on the house.

Parting with the thousand bucks had been worth it, even if Mel smiled like a maniac at your raised eyebrows at the marriage certificate. Sometimes Mel had a weird sense of humor.

Now you were on a bus with James. He hadn’t talked much in Vegas at all. He hadn’t quite been sulking, but you wonder if perhaps the combination of the things you were doing and James’s memory loss were causing him issues. At least you were heading to Minneapolis now, and you could put that particular tactic aside.

“We won’t have to do that again.” You say to him.

He looks over at you. He had been gazing out the window.

“We don’t?” he asked. You shook your head.

“We can’t do it everywhere we go, anyway. Cops might connect the dots, and I don’t think… I’m not sure anyone would believe our story.” You tell him.

James frowns. “I don’t want you doing that at all.” He says, and there’s something in his eyes you can’t place. “Those guys could hurt you, if you keep doing it.”

You frown. You want to tell James you can take care of yourself, that you’ve been doing what you have to since your mom died and your dad went all basketcase, but you keep it to yourself. James hasn’t told you anything personal about himself, and you’re not about to be the first to volunteer.

“Okay.” You tell him.

You’re not sure if you’re lying yet or not, but for right now, you’ll reassure him. Besides, it’s easier to shoplift and lift wallets. If Lane were here, you could probably risk using the credit and debit cards in them, but you’ll stick with the cash. You’ll use your brain to figure everything else out.

The bus keeps going for another hour, before dropping you off at a bus station in South Dakota where you’ll transfer to the bus taking you to Minneapolis. You have an hour before it gets there, so you and James sit in the waiting area.

“You’ve been quiet.” You say to him. He looks at you in surprise, before sighing.

“Been thinking.” He says. “Hard to do when you’re always talking, though.”

You shoot James a glare but without any real irritation behind it.

“I talk because you don’t,” you say, keeping your voice soft so people around you won’t hear. “Silence drives me nuts.”

“Hmm.” You shoot him another glare, but this time he catches your eye and smirks.

Asshole.

“So what are you thinking about?” you ask him.

“My life.” He responds.

There’s silence for a long time, so long that you think James doesn’t want to elaborate, but then he speaks again.

“I think I know my full name. But I don’t… It makes no sense.” He tells you. “I remember battles, a war, friends… but it’s not recent.”

You look at James as he shakes his head and gets that distant look in his eye again. You had thought, from the moment you met him that he was some kind of soldier. But you knew he wasn’t like Lane, there was something different about him. His whole demeanor seemed, at times, like two different people: the first someone distant and vacant, and then there was a person who seemed to be anachronistic, a man from another time who seemed to be trying to catch his bearings.

“Tell me your name,” you whisper to him. “When we get to Minneapolis I’ll see what I can find.”

He’s quiet for a long time, and you check the clock. You have ten minutes until they call boarding for your bus, and you know if he doesn’t tell you before then, you probably will have to start all over again trying to bring him out of his shell.

You reach out and grab his hand. James’s eyes widen and he stares at you in some mixture of disbelief and surprise. He doesn’t pull his hand away from yours. You manage a gentle smile and nod at him, silently urging him to tell you.

“Barnes.” James tells you in a whisper. “James Buchanan Barnes.”

* * *

 

Once your bus arrives in Minneapolis, you and James grab your backpacks and you ask an employee for directions to the library.

“Can you find us a motel if I give you the money? And meet me at the library after?” you ask him.

So far you’ve been in charge of the money, and keep it in a wallet you lifted from a souvenir shop in Vegas while James distracted the clerk with flirting and questions about Vegas. You could have kept one of the wallets you lifted and just returned the things in it, but you lived by the rules Lane, Lila, and Hayden taught you.

“It’s like camping, kiddo.” Lila had told you once, ruffling your hair (which you _hated_ then because you were thirteen and no longer a kid, but Lila and your cousins were older than you so you guessed that made them different). “Leave no trace.”

 So you stole a kitschy fabric wallet that had the Las Vegas strip on it and the words Las Vegas in glitter. It makes you feel like some dumb tourist like the loads of them you had attempted to scam or steal from in some way or another, but you suppose that it’s a wallet, and it serves its purpose even  being dumb looking. Besides, James has a similar one, though his is primarily for the fake identification you had gotten from Mel. You gave him some petty cash in cash he had felt like going around Vegas, but he had stayed in your room the vast majority of the time.

James looks at the bank of pay phones in the bus terminal, as if deep in thought. He looks at you and nods. You walk him over to the bank of phones and find one with a phone book nestled underneath. You grab it and hand it to him, along with two rolls of quarters. After you walk him through making a few calls (which is really weird- he doesn’t seem to know how a modern phone works, and it makes you think of the stories Mr. Henderson used to tell you about telephone exchanges and party lines), he takes over, giving you a thumbs-up and allowing you to leave and head for the library.

Your first thought when you get to the library and get on a computer is that James is either confused or lying to you. The only James Buchanan Barnes you can find died in World War II. It isn’t until you see a picture that you almost startle in your seat.

The picture is of James, your James. You keep clicking, printing off pages that seem interesting. You find out things about the Howling Commandos and Steve Rogers, and print those out, too.

After you’ve printed all you can, you approach the librarian with a smile and ask her if she can help you find a book on the Howling Commandos. She looks it up and writes down the information you need. You smile and thank her profusely. You find the book easily and make copies of the pages that seem relevant.

James is waiting out in front of the library when you’re walking out. He looks at the papers in your hands, but doesn’t ask any questions, just watches you put the papers in your backpack and then offers you his arm. You take it and he begins to lead you, presumably in the direction of the motel he had found for the two of you.

In the motel, the two of you sit on the bed together after checking in under your new identities. You pull out the papers and hand them for James.

“You look pretty good for an old guy.” You tell him. “If that information’s right, anyway.”

“Yeah, I know.” He says, flipping through the pages.

He’s quiet for a long time as he reads, but slowly, he begins telling you about the things he’s reading about, the things he remembers. He laughs when he tells you about his sisters and the Howling Commandos, and he’s so lively and animated you find yourself realizing he either is this James Barnes, or a very skilled liar. The information you found said nothing about sisters, specifically, only siblings. He talks about the Howling Commandos the way one would talk about old friends they hadn’t seen in years, especially their leader, Captain Rogers.

“He and I knew each other as kids. He was a skinny little punk I always had to get out of trouble.” He tells you.

“Not so skinny in those pictures.” You say, and James’s smile fades a little.

“Yeah. He was sick a lot as a kid, but after all this…” he nods at the picture of Steve you’re looking at. “First time I saw him like that, I was behind enemy lines. A P.O.W. I thought… I thought I was dying, and I saw him, and I thought I was seeing him the way I always thought he should be, the way I saw him in my head.”

James is quiet after that, looking through the pages again. He pauses when he gets near the end, and when you look at him, you know instantly that something is wrong.

“James?” you ask hesitantly. He doesn’t answer. You look at the pages he’s reading.

They’re about his own death, and the death of Captain Rogers. You had heard about the death of Captain Rogers in school, but you had never thought of it much. You realize now that this is probably the first time James has heard of his friend’s death.

“He’s dead…” James says, and his voice is a hoarse whisper. He looks up at you, and you can see tears blooming in his eyes. “He never made it home.”

James throws the papers away from himself, and it only slightly startles you. He looks at you apologetically, but you can see that his pain is tearing away at him. You tentatively reach out, brushing your hand against James’s, and he doesn’t stop you, his expression far away.

“He was supposed to live.” James tells you. “He… They’re all dead now, aren’t they? You… You said it’s 2010. They’re all…”

You don’t speak. Tears are running down James’s face, but he makes no attempt to wipe them away. Not allowing yourself to think twice about it, you pull James into your arms. Something about the gesture seems to relax his body, but he clings to you as the sobs hit full-force.

You don’t know what to do, what to say, but your body moves on autopilot despite the hesitance of your mind. You reach a hand up into James’s hair, still long and disheveled, and gently push it back from his face and run a hand through it. Your other hand rubs his back gently in circles, the way your mother used to do with you when you were upset. You’re not sure if it makes him feel better or not, but you keep it up.

The two of you sit like that for what feels like a long time. You had sat on one leg when you sat on the bed, and by now it’s going kind of numb, but James is your first priority. When he finally pulls away and swipes at his face, he gives you an embarrassed smile as you shift and get your leg out from under you.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

You shake your head. “It’s nothing,” you tell him. “I can’t even imagine what you must be going through, right now, James.”

James nods, but his face seems like he’s deep in thought.

“Bucky.” He says. “My friends call me Bucky.” He looks over at you. “We’re friends, right?”

“Yeah.” You tell him, managing a small smile. “We’re friends, Bucky. You going to be okay?”

He nods, but looks away from you and over at the TV. You take the opportunity to grab the television remote.

“Let’s watch some TV, yeah?” you ask.

Bucky looks at you and nods.

“Yeah.” He says. “Yeah, that’ll be good.”


	2. Day 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2. An exercise in trust.

Having a gun was out of the question. While you were almost positive your fake identification could stand up to the scrutiny because Mel was nothing if not good at his job, the background checks took forever and you couldn’t stay in one place too long. So guns were out.

Knives were either too bulky to carry undetected or too small to be effective, though Bucky argued he could make it work. Pepper spray and stun guns varied in legality, and sometimes required a paper trail that, like the question of obtaining a gun, left you apprehensive.

So you had to get creative.

“What do you need this for?”

“Stop going through my stuff, Bucky.” You mutter, grabbing the nail gun from him and shoving it back into your backpack.

“What’s it for?” Christ, it’s like dealing with a child.

“Things. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not exactly on vacation.” Bucky looks affronted at this. If he were a less mature (heh, mature) man, he probably would have stuck his tongue out at you.

“I kind of noticed that, doll.” Again with the ‘doll.’ Forget child, try corny asshole.

Corny _charming_ asshole, but all the same.

“I just don’t see why-“

“And if those creeps who kidnapped me and did… well, whatever it was they did to you don’t catch up to us, you won’t have to see why.”

Bucky still didn’t say what they did to him. You could guess, seeing as he hadn’t aged a day and you doubted he was kept alive for simple questioning, but you let it be for now. It was fine; a man had to have his secrets. You knew it wasn’t a lack of trust that kept him from telling you. He trusted you, you _knew_ that. You just didn’t need to know everything.

He would tell you, in time. Or maybe not. It wasn’t your business until he decided it would be, if he decided to tell you.

Bucky sighs and shakes his head.

“Fine. I’ll let it go.”

“Thank you, Bucky. I _really_ appreciate it.”

“ _Anytime_ , doll.”

At least being held prisoner for almost seventy years hadn’t dulled Bucky’s capacity to comprehend and throw back sarcasm. If you had to deal with someone boring, this whole situation would be a million times worse.

* * *

The two of you were stranded in Kansas. You weren’t broke, not yet, but you were considering the prospect of hitchhiking and robbing whatever poor bastard was dumb enough to pick you and Bucky up.

Okay, you were broke. Fuck. Your cousins would be disappointed in you. You could almost see Lane and Hayden making that stupid shame finger gesture at you.

At least you had found a place to squat while you contemplated your fate. Bucky didn’t like it, but not for his usual reasons of morality.

“A perfectly serviceable house fucking yards away and you have us squatting in the barn.”

“Shut up, Bucky. You know my issue with that fucking place.” You pause. “At least the barn is clean. Doesn’t smell like animal shit.”

“That should make you more suspicious than the house.” Bucky replied drily.

“Shut up, Bucky. We are not staying in the house, and that’s final.”

You _would_ have stayed in the house a short walk away, but something about the way it still had all its furniture creeped you out. The fact it all seemed old and yet there was relatively fresh food in the kitchen was only an extra dose of creepy.

Fuck no. You _knew_ how this would play out. You watched horror movies. If it wasn’t your creepy kidnappers, it would be some deep dark secret cannibal clan of inbreds. You were in Kansas, for fuck’s sake, in the middle of fucking nowhere. If there wasn’t some weirdo close by wearing someone else’s face, you would eat the dusty checkered tablecloth on the kitchen table.

“It’s like whoever lived here just up and vanished, Bucky,” you had said. “Most of the food isn’t even expired, but there’s dust an inch thick.”

“So we’ll dust.” Bucky told you, which made you frown and glare at him.

“Bucky, this shit is straight out of a horror movie.” You had said, eyeing the landline and wondering if it would work. You had turned away, deciding that either way you probably wouldn’t like the answer.

“It’s just a house, doll.” Bucky said.

“Just a house? Just a house? Says the man who hasn’t seen horror movies ever!”

“We had horror movies back then, doll.” Bucky sounded like he was grinning, but you refused to look at him. Bastard.

“Fuck you, Barnes. I’m not staying here to be cannibalized.”

“I’ll protect you!”

“No, the dude always dies first when the cannibal clan comes out.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at you. “The fuck?” he asked simply.

“You have more muscle mass! More of you can be used for cooking and eating. I’m too soft and fatty. I’m good for seasoning a meal or greasing a pan, but I’d be gross eaten by myself.”

“Again, _the fuck_ , doll?”

In the end, you had more-or-less won and the two of you stayed in the barn, though Bucky insisted on taking blankets and pillows with you, and had taken more than a few pieces of clothing he was certain would fit him or you. The two of you also ate the food from the house, but it was getting low by the time the man had shown up.

Of course. Of _fucking_ course they would catch up with you in the middle of fucking nowhere in Kansas, where the two of you were squatting in an old barn to save up on cash.

The two of you had been in the barn, discussing your next move until Bucky gently clamped a hand over your mouth and motioned for you to be quiet. The guy had walked up to the barn, wearing some kind of suit, announcing himself as someone from the department of agriculture. He even wore a tie and carried a briefcase, to complete the role. It was a shame that the poor bastard could barely tie a Windsor knot, but even if he had, it would have been obvious he was no government suit. You were pretty sure department of agriculture inspectors didn’t even _wear_ suits on the job. Too much risk of getting shit on the suit, literally and figuratively.

You and Bucky weren’t stupid. Scared as shit by then because money was low, yes. Hungry and tired and maybe a little pissed off, yes. But none of these things made you stupid. By the time you caught Bucky’s eye, he had let go of you and was already moving into a fighting stance, nodding at you. You dove for your backpack as the man threw his briefcase at Bucky. Bucky dodged easily as you grabbed your weapon from your bag, took careful aim, and fired.

Thank God you had calibrated the settings beforehand. Your aim hit, the nail hitting the man in the side as he twisted. You had been aiming for a kidney, but the nail gun had managed to hit and stick long enough that by the time the man registered there was a nail in his side, Bucky had him in a headlock as you looked for rope to bind the man.

“Can you keep him sti-“ you trail off, realizing Bucky had knocked the man out. You sigh and hold out the rope. “I guess that’s good enough. Help me tie him to one of the beams?”

Bucky took the rope from you. It was sisal rope, strong and durable and definitely good for holding someone in place. It also tended to burn like a bitch if you struggled. If anyone deserved rope burns, it was the jackass who tried to attack you and Bucky.

Bucky tied the man to the beam you directed him to. From there, the two of you waited for the man to wake up.

You left the nail in, obviously.

* * *

 

When the man finally woke up, you were standing behind him, pressing the nail gun against his back, right where his kidneys were located. Bucky was directly in front of you, leaning against the wall almost nonchalantly.

“Who are you working for?” you ask the man.

“Сука!” the man’s response was a short, barked word.

“That sounded rude.” You say to Bucky, your tone conversational as your finger already sliding to the trigger.

“It was.” He confirms, but you’re already pulling the trigger and the man’s scream cuts off whatever Bucky says after that.

“You shouldn’t be so rude.” Bucky says to the man when his screaming dies off. “She’s liable to shoot you in the head with that thing if I ever tell her what you called her.”

“You’re lucky that was only in your back. An inch to the left and I would have had your kidney. Again, who do you work for?” you ask.

No response. You sigh and move the nail gun just slightly to the left. You look up at Bucky, but he’s too busy looking at the tied-up man.

“You know, I’m tempted to let her poke holes in all your vital organs. Maybe a few non-vital ones. I hear living without a gallbladder’s kind of a bitch these days, but it’s livable.” Bucky tells the man. “My friend there, the one behind you? She’s fucking nuts, y’know. Is that why your people wanted her?”

Normally you’d protest that kind of mischaracterization, but for two things. One is that Bucky is obviously playing some kind of head game with the man. You weren’t too sure what kind. Maybe the good cop to your bad cop. It was hard to say. The only thing you could be sure of was that you weren’t going to interrupt unless it was absolutely important.

The other thing was that you _were_ holding a nail gun to the guy’s kidney. Kind of hard to argue about the sanity of that act.

“You wouldn’t.” The man ground out.

“I would.” Bucky tells him. “Then I’d tell her who you work for. Just for fun.”

A pregnant pause follows as you digest this information and the man weighs his options. Bucky knows who kidnapped you?

Of course he does. You figure he’s known all along. It’s probably tied in to the whole “things he won’t tell you about” list. You’re strangely comfortable with it, and damn if _that_ doesn’t give you pause. If anyone else withheld information from you, you’d be demanding to know what they knew. It says something about your level of trust in Bucky that you’re willing to let him keep secrets like that.

You think that it says something, too, about Bucky’s level of trust in you that he’s willing to trust you won’t put a nail in him right now for finding out he kept information from you. Hell, the fact he’s willing to let you threaten a man with a nail gun suggests he trusts you to have his back. It’s oddly touching.

Also kind of fucked up. Well, maybe not, given the circumstances.

“What happens if you put one in his kidney?” Bucky asks, looking over at you.

You shrug and click your tongue a few times as if contemplating. “Tough to say. He’ll definitely piss blood through a catheter for a few days if he’s found and goes to a hospital. If I get a shot in to both kidneys, he’s kinda fucked if no one finds him. Blood pressure goes up. The blood can get more acidic or basic. The body can’t balance water levels. Eventually, waste products and salts and all that nasty shit the kidneys are responsible for getting rid of starts to build up. Your own body basically poisons you. Of course, that’s just if the nails are clean. I can’t factor in the damages by a dirty nail. That’s a whole other ballgame of disease.” You tell him. You’re giving him the long-haul effects, but you keep that to yourself.

“Would he die?”

“Not for a few days.” He’d die of dehydration pretty quick if the two of you left him here, you think. He’d die of that long before his kidneys fucked off like that, if the blood loss didn’t get him first. Though having holes in his kidneys would do no favors either way, it might actually speed up the death by dehydration; after all, no kidneys meant no water level balance. Who knew what that could do to a man?                                                                                                  

Bucky nods. You get the feeling he knew some of that already. “Go for the kidney, doll.” Bucky tells you, and you nod and get ready to pull on the nail gun’s trigger.

“Wait!” The man yelled, and you managed to slip your finger off the trigger just in time.

“Yes?” you manage to sound as sweet as possible.

“H-HYDRA. I’m with HYDRA.”

From there, it fell out of the man’s mouth like water. Kidnapping you had been a case of half incompetence, half mistaken identity.

“You never meant to kidnap me?” you ask the man when he finishes.

“N-N-Not then. We were supposed to kidnap you later, but someone mixed up the schedules, it was all wrong.”

“Why them? What are they to you?”

The man’s eyes widened. “You don’t know?” He snorted. “No, you have to be playing me.”

“Why them, asshole?” Now you were pressing the nail gun back against his kidneys, and Bucky looks like he wants to stop you but is unsure how to do so, or if he even should. The man from HYDRA did just lay a bombshell at your feet, and it threw everything off balance.

“You have to know why. You’re not exactly an innocent here; I’ve seen the files and the videos. You’re playing dumb, you must be, stupid Шлюха…”

And then he was howling, because he had obviously forgotten you were holding a nail gun to his kidney.

“Go check his car; he probably left his wallet in there. Bring it back here, Bucky?” you ask him, lifting your eyes to meet his.

Bucky sighs and nods, leaving you alone with the man as you calmly punch him full of holes in a few delicate places. You leave the other kidney alone, but you imagine if this man survives the ordeal, he’s going to be… well, at minimum, embarrassed.

You don’t get any more answers to your questions on the kidnapping, but the man does give you the necessary information to pull money off of his debit and credit cards. When Bucky returns with the wallet, you’re giving the man a pat on the cheek before throwing his head against the beam he’s tied to, which thoroughly knocks him out.

“Is he dead?” Bucky asks as you’re flipping through the wallet.

“Unconscious.” You look through the guy’s pockets, finding a cell phone that you promptly remove the battery and SIM card from. You also find the keys to the car, which you gladly take.

“What’s the plan?”

You sigh. If the man has given you accurate info, you at least have enough money to buy train or bus tickets. If not, you have the vehicle, which you can probably take to a big city and ditch before stealing some cash from someone. You’ll probably have to be quick about it, in any case. This HYDRA seems like bad news, and they’ll probably start looking for you or sending out a search party if the man you just interrogated doesn’t get back to them in a timely fashion.

“The bank. Then out of here.”

Bucky nods. “And him?” he asks.

You shrug. “Untie him. He’s probably not much trouble now.” You say, gazing quickly at the pattern of nails you’ve left imbedded in his skin.

Bucky nods. “Wait for me in the car, then.” He tells you.

You almost protest, but the look in Bucky’s eyes makes you flounder. You don’t know if he’ll untie the man and leave him alive or just snap his neck and get it over with. You’re pretty sure you don’t want to find out.

You hear a crunching sound as you get in the car. You don’t think about it too much. You get in the driver’s side and wait.

Bucky joins you after a few minutes, taking the passenger’s side without complaint. Another sign that he trusts you, you suppose.

Or he just knows you have a plan and that it’s better to let you take over.

As you drive away from the barn, you notice Bucky is looking at your hands. You raise an eyebrow at him as you let your eyes drift briefly from the road, but he just shakes his head.

“You were good with the nail gun.” He says finally.

“Eh. He would’ve been fine. Nail guns are actually really shitty when it comes to projectile speed and damage. It’s about a fiftieth of the speed of a gun, and way less internal damage.” You tell him. “My cousin just used to scare people with his. He never actually… Yeah.”

“Pull over.” Bucky tells you.

“What?”

“Just pull over, doll.”

You do as he asks, and turn to face him. He bites his lip, and then takes one of your hands in his.

“I’m… Sorry. For not telling you. About… about HYDRA.” He says.

“Bucky, I…” you bite your lip. “It’s fine, Bucky. I mean, I know that you don’t tell me things and you have your reasons. But… I trust you, okay? I’ve said that from the day we met. I wouldn’t still be here if I didn’t.”

He nods. There’s a slight faraway look in his eyes, and you wonder exactly what he’s thinking of. If he’s thinking of his distant past, if he’s thinking of all he’s lost. You almost hope he’s thinking of you, of all the things you’ve done for him and for the both of you. Not just the things that keep you safe and on the run, but the small things and maybe a few not-so-small things.

The way you never left his side if you could help it, knowing that having you there made people less inclined to notice Bucky, how it made the two of you vanish in the background. The way you’re (probably all-too-willing) to pretend to be his wife in public when people _are_ tossing the two of you suspicious glances, acting like your foolish husband got the two of you stranded in the middle of nowhere again, making them think you were a couple on some kind of eternal vacation. The way you went out of your way to buy him more notebooks and didn’t pry as to why he needed so damn many. Reading to him at night when the nightmares got to be too much.

Yeah, you kind of hope he’s thinking of you.

“I trust you, too,” Bucky says finally, and it may not be what you thought he would say, and maybe you’re just imagining things and he’ll never say it because he doesn’t feel that way, but you feel like he’s given you something more. Offered up something of himself, like a tiny glittering gem buried in something dark and forgotten.

His trust means more than anything else, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Russian words used by the man from HYDRA mean "bitch" and "whore," respectively.


	3. Day 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3. Maine in autumn.

Fall is in full swing when you and Bucky find yourselves in Maine. It seemed like a good idea, hiding among the tourists who were there to see the foliage, hiding in the change of colors. The colors aren’t all that’s changing, but you and Bucky never really talk about it, never put words to what it is between you. It’s enough that his hand in yours feels like less of an act every time it happens.

You’re drinking coffee at the diner this morning with a turnover, apple cinnamon. The flaky pastry is delicious and light on your tongue in contrast to the heavy apple filling. It reminds you of the trip you and your mother had taken when you were five or six, of picking apples at an orchard. It’s a happy memory, just you and your mother walking along as the leaves crunch underfoot. Your mother singing songs you only vaguely recall.

You were fourteen or fifteen when you realized your mother had taken you and left your father behind, that it was the one time your mother had been able to leave. That she had gone back, in the end.

Bucky is sitting across from you, eating toast and ignoring his coffee that had long since cooled. He must sense something in your expression, because he touches a hand to yours.

“Doll?” he asks, his voice soft so as not to be heard by the other patrons.

You smile at him and shake your head. “It’s nothing, Bucky.” You say, gazing down at your turnover.

You’ve only told him that your mother is dead and little else. He’s never asked anything of you, but sometimes you catch him looking at you curiously, as if trying to piece together a puzzle. You had asked him about that once, but he only told you something cryptic, something about people wearing their pasts on their faces, and you hadn’t asked more.

You wonder what Bucky sees in your face. You see pain in his sometimes, faint ghosts of sadness and grief you imagine to be unfathomable. You see joy sometimes, but it always seems even more fleeting than the pain.

Bucky’s face is a mystery. Or perhaps it isn’t, and you’re just looking too hard.

* * *

After the diner, the two of you go back to the motel. Sometimes you join people coming to look at the falling leaves, but more often than not, you and Bucky stick to your routine. The two of you spend almost your entire day side-by-side in bed, Bucky writing in his notebooks or listening to you read aloud. Sometimes he reaches over and traces a pattern on your knee, knowing you’re ticklish there and trying to get you to laugh and lose your place reading. Every time it happens, he’s smiling in a way that would have seemed absurd when you first knew him. Now, you live to see that smile.

You’re lying in bed again, reading to Bucky. He’s next to you, his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder. It’s comfortable in a way that goes down to your bones, a comfort you had been unaware of in your life before being on the run. The two of you have fallen asleep like this before sometimes, him holding you as you read a book, letting the words lull the both of you to sleep. Like when the two of you hold hands, it’s something you never talk about.

“It took me a long time to learn where he came from. The little prince, who asked me so many questions, never seemed to hear the ones I asked him. It was from words dropped by chance that, little by little, everything was revealed to me.” You read out loud.

Bucky makes a small noise, one that you’ve managed to figure out means contentment. At least, you believe it does, if the way his body seems to loosen and relax after he makes that sound is anything to go by. You’ve learned during your time together that Bucky is almost always wound up tightly, every part of his body suggesting a man ready to take on the world. Moments like now serve as a contrast, showing you the part of Bucky that is kept locked away and hidden.

You pause in your reading and look over at him. At least, you try. But Bucky makes a noise of disapproval when you turn your head and moves himself so that you can’t see him again. It makes you a moment to realize he’s hiding his face in your hair.

“Are you smelling my hair, Bucky?” you ask, swallowing a fit of giggles that threatens to erupt.

You can’t imagine why he’s smelling your hair. Since you went on the run, you’ve adapted to using the cheapest shampoo possible, the kind that costs you about a dollar or so depending on where you are. It always leaves your hair feeling like there’s a slight film on it, like it’s never totally clean. It _is_ more fragrant than most shampoos; it suggests that the manufacturers loaded up on scent to hide the fact their shampoo was not as adept at cleansing hair as others.

“No.” He says, and the way he says it makes you envision a child acting insolent and pouting.

“You totally are.” You shoot back, smiling ridiculously.

“Shut up.” he mumbles, and he presses his face into your hair again, which makes you give an undignified giggle-snort.

“You like me.” You say in a sing-song voice, which makes Bucky give an equally undignified scoff.

You two are complete and utter children sometimes, you think as Bucky responds by beginning to tickle you. You toss the book onto the bedside table with a laugh and a declaration of “This means war, Barnes!” as you grab a pillow and give Bucky a light _thwack_ in the side with it. Then it’s nothing but laughter and play-fighting as the usual routine is forgotten.

* * *

Later, after dinner in the diner, Bucky takes your hand and leads you to the walking path along the lake. During the day, there were tours and tourists on the path, but now in the waning sunlight, it’s just you and Bucky and it’s quiet, save for the gentle noise from the lake. Bucky keeps hold of your hand as the two of you walk the path.

You’re amazed by the way the lights and shadows play on the colorful leaves and the way the leaves look floating on the lake’s surface. You’re not sure how you never paid attention to it before. You turn to say something to Bucky, but your words catch in your throat and he simply nods and smiles at you. He knows, too.

At some point Bucky lets go of your hand and slips his arm around your shoulders. You sigh and let your head fall onto his shoulder. He chuckles at that, but makes no move to put space between you. It’s strange, you think, how things have changed without a word spoken between the two of you about it. You’ll have to talk about it, eventually.

“We should go back.” Bucky says suddenly, jarring you from your reverie. “It’s getting late.”

You blink and look around. It’s getting dark now, and it will be night soon.

“Maybe we should stay, look at the stars.” You say.

You’re not sure where the idea came from. It strikes you as an overly romantic, fanciful idea, one you would usually mock. But here, in Maine, with Bucky, it seems like the most natural idea in the world. Besides, you were in a relatively rural area, where streetlights wouldn’t interfere with your ability to see the stars the way it would if you were in Boston or New York City. You had never seen the stars before, not really. You wondered if Bucky had ever seen them.

But Bucky shakes his head.

“It gets dangerous at night.” He tells you.

He has a point. Even if this area is safe, you and Bucky do face danger. Being out at night puts you at additional risk. You sigh and nod, letting Bucky take your hand and lead you back.

When you get back to the motel, Bucky takes his bag and goes into the bathroom, leaving you alone. You raise an eyebrow, but don’t say anything and go to change into your pajamas, grabbing your abandoned book from earlier when you finish.

Bucky leaves the bathroom and drops his bag just outside the bathroom door. You look up from your book to see he’s holding something in his hand. Bucky pauses at the end of the bed, giving you a nervous look. You notice that he’s shifting from foot to foot like a nervous child.

“I was going to wait to give this to you,” he says, nodding at the thing in his closed fist. “I uh, bought it. Back in Georgia.”

You raise an eyebrow at this. You had been in Georgia two months ago. Bucky had been holding onto this gift for two months? Plus, he _paid_ for it. You suspected he must have used the cash he’s had on him since Las Vegas months and months ago, but then you remember how in Georgia, some money had gone missing from your wallet. You had been pissed at the time, but you had been pissed at yourself for losing track of the money. It makes sense now, where the money went. It also implies that the gift is expensive, if Bucky had to take more money to buy it. You place your book back on the nightstand and walk over to Bucky, giving him a smile. 

“Oh? And why are you giving it to me now?” You ask. You’re genuinely curious.

Bucky lets out a breath, and opens his fist to you. In his hand is a necklace that makes you catch your breath. It’s a pendant, a rather elegant and intricate one. It’s a filigree pendant, its lines and latticework shaped almost like a crown, flanked on either side by a bird that connected the pendant to the necklace chain. The chain had no clasp that you could see, suggesting it was to go over your head.

But the stone in the center was what held your eye. It was mostly a deep pink, but there was blue swirling heavily throughout the stone, looking simultaneously like fire and stars. You reach out a finger and gingerly touch the stone, almost expecting it to be hot with the way it seems to glow.

“The jeweler I bought it from told me it’s called dragon’s breath or a Mexican fire opal.” Bucky tells you, his eyes following your movements. “Um… I bought it because it looked like more like the stars than any kind of fire I’ve ever seen. But it… it, uh, reminded me of you.”

You look up at Bucky with a smile.

“Tonight, when you said you wanted to look at the stars, I knew I had to give you this.” He says, and you can see now that Bucky is blushing furiously. “This way you have the stars all the time.”

You didn’t mean to hug him the way you did. Really. But you give Bucky a hard, fierce hug and kiss his cheek as a way of thanks.

“Help me put it on?” you ask, turning to face the mirror above the dresser.

Bucky nods and maneuvers your hair out of the way as he slips the pendant over your head. The stone rests just below your collarbone. You touch your finger to it again, still almost expecting to feel the heat of the stars and sky inside.

“Beautiful.” You hear Bucky murmur, your attention so focused on the stone you don’t notice he’s looking at you in the mirror’s reflection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book being read in this part is _The Little Prince_ by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. While the books and authors featured or mentioned thus far ( _House of Leaves, The Last Manchu, The Little Prince_ and Ernest Hemingway) were (at least in my mind) chosen randomly, my beta believes I've created an unintentional motif based on what I've told her about the story. I guess we'll (meaning you readers and me) see. What do you think?  
>  The necklace described is based on the necklace [shown here.](https://www.etsy.com/listing/129199780/dragon-breath-necklace-with-flying-birds)  
> Up next is _Three Nights_ , another one-shot to close out the interlude, and then it's back to the main story.
> 
>  
> 
> [Visit my tumblr to request one-shots or ask questions.](http://lady-wordsmith.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> This piece and the upcoming _Three Nights_ will show what some snapshots of what happened on the run. Then there's one more one-shot and we return to the main story (I know you guys are dying to get to Boston and have Bucky and the Reader Character meet again).


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